The invisible man

Thoughts on the often-overlooked producer of a film, occasioned by the passing of Edida Nageswara Rao.

When I heard that Edida Nageswara Rao had died, my first thoughts were about the three films – Shankarabharanam, Sagara Sangamam (Salangai Oli in Tamil), Swati Muthyam (Sippikkul Muthu in Tamil, Eeshwar in Hindi) – that defined him as a certain kind of producer, at least to non-Telugu audiences. But before getting into that, we may need to consider that producers never really become “names” to the average audience member. We remember the splashy banners – say, the AVM production house, or Yash Raj. We remember directors. We remember stars – the people right in front of the camera, the people whose faces draw us in. Ask the man on the street, and he’ll tell you Salangai Oli is a Kamal Haasan movie, and that Jayaprada looked mind-bogglingly beautiful in it, and that the film had a magnificent score by Ilayaraja. A smaller bunch may recall the director, K Viswanath. But only film-industry trackers and those who write about cinema would probably remember Edida Nageswara Rao, whose money made the movie possible in the first place.

This isn’t a uniquely Indian problem. Even with Hollywood films, no one outside the business really cares about the producer. Well, maybe they used to, once upon a time – which is why the poster for the biggest blockbuster of 1939 announces “David O Selznick’s production of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind.” You’ll have to search, far below, for the name of the director, Victor Fleming. But gradually, the cult of the director took over. He replaced the producer – at least in public perception – as the driving force behind a movie. By the 1950s, you begin to hear of “Hitchcock films.” But a producer can be as instrumental in shaping a film. Take the case of Brokeback Mountain. Sometime in 1997, Diana Ossana, the film’s eventual producer and screenwriter, read Annie Proulx’s short story, about two gay cowboys, in The New Yorker. “Two-thirds of the way through reading the story, I began to sob, and I sobbed all the way to the end,” she said later. “I was floored. Emotionally exhausted, I went to sleep, got up the next morning and read it again because I wanted to see if it affected me as much in broad daylight as it did in the middle of the night. Its effect on me was even more profound.”

Ossana asked (eventual co-screenwriter) Larry McMurtry to read the story. He loved it. They wrote Proulx a letter, asking to option the story to them so that they could adapt it for a screenplay. Proulx responded within a week, and by the end of 1997, there was a screenplay. They tried to get the script into production. Many directors came and went. Many actors were interested, until they weren’t anymore. Then, in late 2003, Ang Lee came on board. “I never really lost faith,” Ossana said, “but I didn’t think it would take seven years… People wouldn’t truly commit. They’d read it, they’d love it, they’d waver or anguish about it – and then something that paid more money or whatever would come along, and they’d just let it go. And then I’d simply press on, contacting more directors and actors, sending it to people to read and to consider.” The film was finally released in December 2005.

This is what a producer does, sometimes. They’re the first people in on a project, and they bring in the others – the others who, ironically, go on to become more identified with the project. I take the example of Brokeback Mountain because Edida Nageswara Rao’s films were as tough a sell in the marketplace. I don’t know if he conceived these films, the way Ossana did – maybe he did, or maybe the director approached him with an idea and asked if he’d like to produce it. I’m just talking about the fact that he financed these projects that were no one’s idea of a sure-fire hit. Shankarabharanam had at its core the guru-shishya tradition, and it was filled with Carnatic music – there was even a plot point about a mis-sung avarohanam. And Salangai Oli, the story of a classical dancer who weeps at the commercialization of dance, is practically a mirror to the movies, where art often matters less than commerce.

Picture courtesy: moonramkonam.com/

It’s easy to mock the other kind of producer, the more commercial kind – but consider the way movies are made in India. There are a few studios, yes, but most films are produced by individuals who spend crores on star fees and director/technician fees and production costs. It’s only natural that, in order to recover these investments, they veer towards the more commercial end of the spectrum. But that’s why a producer like Edida Nageswara Rao becomes even more remarkable. Even in this market, he made those movies. You may argue that it was easier to make these movies then because the audience was open to a larger variety of films, and they weren’t as distracted by other entertainment options as they are today – but how many others, back then, made similar films? The opening credits of Salangai Oli appear on still pictures of religious iconography – conch shell, discus, the U-shaped forehead mark, the bow and arrow – and Rao’s name appears on an image of the god’s palm, raised as if in benediction. That’s pretty symbolic. Without the producer’s blessing, there would be no film to talk about today.

After being profoundly affected and absolutely floored over watching Brokeback mountain, learning that it was based on a (longish) short story, I sought it out and found reading it even more moving : I helplessly sobbed too. Had not known of this story behind its production though.

Kaaka Muttai was one recent movie where the producer’s name was the one which was initially bandied about : Dhanush’s Kaaka Muttai. Probably because it had a first time director and no major stars.

Thank you for writing this, Brangan. I think his movies have been a source of much pride to the Telugu audience of that decade. And while I knew the movies, and ENR as a producer, didn’t know he produced these.

In today’s context, deciphering who’s the producer of a movie seems very complex to me. The opening credits show… Karan Johar presents, presented by Grazing goat, co-produced by Excel entertainment; and then the end of opening credits go.. Produced by Sunil Lulla.

South In North: Actually, it is quite confusing. even in Hollywood, who gets which credit is not very clear. But the example you give indicates the various financial stakeholders in the film. For instance, A, B and C may have provided funds, but then Karan Johar may have acquired distribution rights and because his name sells it may be right on top. (The equivalent of the “so-and-so vazhangum” credit here.)

At least here we have a history of adding the producer’s name in the ads. In the pre-multiplex Sathyam era, when it was just three theatres (Sathyam, Santham and Subham), Siri Siri Muvva had a great run at Subham (this used to be where the Telugu films were usually screened). And the ads in the paper had both K Viswanath’s name and ENR’s name, which is probably how I first heard of him.

Then of course Shankarabharanam was a huge blockbuster, especially after that Semmangudi statement and all. Then came Salangai Oli (can’t recall if Sagara Sangamam was also released here), and it received huge hype because Kamal had just won the National Award for Moondram Pirai and there was that massive function with MGR and all, with everyone saying “nam Kamal… nam Kamal…” 🙂 The recording of this function was there in the Salangai Oli video cassette, and you can only imagine how many times this particular cassette was borrowed by this particular viewer from the local video store 🙂

I was enormously upset because I wasn’t allowed to see Moondram Pirai — A certificate and all. I think of what today’s kids are exposed to and laugh 😀

Those days, Ananda Vikatan reviews used to come in the form of letters — they used to keep changing the format of the reviews, and for a while it was a series of letters between “Rajesh” and “Latha.” I still remember the words. They said they could even forgive some of the “sex seshtaigal” of Silk to seduce Kamal, but the dances moves in Ponmeni could never be forgiven 😀 That probably sealed my fate 🙂

Another Telugu movie that ran for more than a year at Safire was Maro Charitra. I get very nostalgic when I see Tamil films from the 70s/80s with the red PTC buses and the huge hoardings opposite Safire. Every time the bus used to pass by, there was excitement as to whether the hoarding had changed 🙂

Okay, got to add that it was also fun — at the theatres — to see the various plaques displayed for the successful run of films. In Ega, for instance, there was a 200th day plaque for Moondram Pirai — imagine, a film like that running for so long. Today, it wouldn’t run two shows 🙂

And going to Safire was especially fun because on the wall they had a board with EVERY film that played there — with release dates. An incipient movie buff’s wet dream 🙂

I used to work very near Safire. 🙂 Didn’t it also have Blue Diamond and Emerald – was it? – as part of the complex? Blue Diamond used to show English movies…

@BR – how old were you when Moondram Pirai released? 🙂

I was young enough to weep my heart out at Moondram Pirai‘s ending – my eldest sister-in-law consoled me by saying that it would all be okay – when Bhagyalakshmi returned home, her parents would tell her all about Srini, and she would come back looking for him. gurgle (I’m remembering how young I was that I took comfort in that thought!’)

I grew up with very little supervision where movies (or books) were concerned, so I watched quite a few age-inappropriate films in my childhood. Dad loved them, so he too me along for everything he went to watch; the thing is, I’m not sure whether I understood a lot of what was happening on screen.

I remember happily going to see Blue Lagoon with my friends when it first released. (I’ve a feeling mom didn’t know what it was about, and of course, I don’t think I told her, either.)

Emm, I watched all these movies (all in Telugu) on TV. We watched them because my parents would be excited about seeing them again, and again. Infact I’ve heard them get nostalgic about they wouldn’t get tickets for shankarabharanam for weeks.

The plaque thing in theaters has just vanished now, I think. There were theatres in Hyderabad that would proudly present 100 day shields! Now there is the standard movie halls, with the popcorn flavoured air freshener in abundance.

kaaviyathalagani: Oh my god, she really died. Just woke up and read the news. This is so sad. I think of all actors, we feel closest to the comedians. One of the things I’ve always wondered about is her singing. Very unique voice and I wonder what someone might have done with that.

@Sanjay – for what it’s worth, it is: De mortuis nihil nisi bonum (or (nil nisi bonum). But it is not that at all. Not with my comment, at least. I’m a Malayali and will say Sukumari is an excellent actress. There’s no doubt about that. But I lived (for a while) and worked (for a while) in Madras, and have a father who was born and brought up there. I was exposed to much more of Manorama’s oeuvre as an actress and I found her an incredibly talented actress and I am saddened by her death – in a ‘Oh, I knew her, and yet I really didn’t’ manner. Her art has touched me, and it has made me laugh and made me cry, and I mourn her death as a near-stranger whose only acquaintance with her is with a screen in between.

That you find her intolerable, is fine with me – as always, likes and dislikes are subjective. But let’s put it this way – where Manorama’s talent is concerned, you and I can agree to disagree.

In Wag The Dog, Dustin Hoffman wonders aloud as to why there aren’t any Oscar for best producer. He’s right. Great you brought it up as well. Who else have helped to greenlight all the off beat flicks pouring out of recent?

on Manorama aachi being compared to Sukumari its not fair! Manorama aachi could carry an entire film on her shoulders and being a comedienne in the time of Shivaji and MGR dominated world was not a cakewalk! with due respects to Ms. Sukumari and shes a great actress, she just hasnt played the variety that Aachi has… just a few scenes in “Samsaram adhu minsaaram” she rocks!!

Didn’t think I could add much to this discussion, here’s my two cents anyway. Every time I think of a producer not getting enough credit for the project that he is responsible for, I think about Dustin Hoffman in ‘Wag the dog’. Great film that.

The contribution of E. Nageswara Rao and K. Vishwanath to Telugu cinema is huge and will never be forgotton. After the Vaccum left by Y.V. Reddy (Mayabazaar) and the likes, Telugu films in general fell victim to crass commercilization. This is the era NTR and ANR would dance around with kids half or a third their age (Sridevi et al) , Directed by Dasari Narayana Rao and K.Raghavendra (Primary culprits in my view). It is in this background that K.Vishwanath and E. Nageswara Rao came into the mix and provided the much needed oxygen to the industry.

The problem sometimes is also the media. Dasari and KRR would always get into the limelight and were projected, however the genuine ones would get sidelined. I am talking about Kodanda Rami Reddy. He was the counter force to KRR and films were the ones continuously making more money and would you believe it ? Chiranjeevi had more films with him than KRR and he gave more hits too! Anyway, I am ranting too much. 🙂